


Coffee

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Coffee, Crushes, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Language Barrier, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Thailand, expatriates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23540647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: With cream and sugar for a sweet finish.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Liu Yang Yang
Comments: 20
Kudos: 122





	Coffee

He’s lived here a year and Yangyang still doesn’t know much Thai. 

It's... a tough language. He can say hello and please and thank you. The basics. He can apologize and ask where the restroom is. He can go to Lisa’s mother’s shop and order his favorite sweets without stuttering and can tell when she recites a slightly different order total just to fuck with him. He can hail a taxi and give the address to his tiny condo near the outskirts of town. But, more importantly, he can say shit and damn and asshole and motherfucker because those are the most versatile words no matter the country.

Thailand is beautiful. Even the parts that don’t look like the brochures and travel guides. In the mornings, the rolling hills with their bright green grass are all covered in dew and fog and wildflowers. In the afternoons, when the sun burns the fog away and the shadows disappear, Yangyang can count the coconut trees along the road, count the rows of rice paddies up the side of the hill, count the golden spires of the temple. In the evenings, when the sun sets and washes all the shadows purple, he can see just how many _mountains_ there are out here.

But he knows the reality beneath the picturesque facade. Knows firsthand how hard he must work for what little money he earns. Knows firsthand the odd looks he gets when he walks through town. But he loves this place anyway.

He was only supposed to be in the country for two or three weeks, is the excuse he likes to give himself whenever he realizes how little of the language he understands. He was supposed to hit up every club he could find, get drunk on weeknights, explore the different beaches and go spelunking. He was supposed to climb mountains to pray at Buddhist temples and go traipsing through jungles! It was an adventure of a lifetime and then he was supposed to leave it all and go back home, everything safely 'out of his system' like his mother begged.

Yangyang had graduated from university and this overseas trip was supposed to be his last little hurrah before he joined the corporate workforce back in Taiwan. But then he met Ten at a morning market and he did everything he could in order to stay in Thailand. In order to stay next to Ten without it coming off as creepy. He jumped all of the hurdles and hoops to get a work visa and then begged Ten to help him get a spot on the farm where the older man worked. Then he learned the work and did it faster and better than he needed to so he wouldn’t embarrass the hell out of Ten by being sloppy. He drained the savings from his part-time job back home to rent a cheap Thai condo.

He did everything to stay.

It was crazy and spontaneous and it all happened lightning fast. He had no backup plan if things went south but having a crush on someone makes you do silly fucking things.

⛾

As long as the two of them have worked together and Ten still doesn’t know much Chinese.

He can say good morning and have a nice day. He can say yes and no and, if he minds his tones, he can order crab rangoons at that one Chinese place he knows. Whatever he doesn't pick up from listening in on Yangyang's phone conversations, he learns from webdramas and online dictionaries. He can list off all of the old Chinese emperors in order. He can count up to ninety-nine and can announce that the food he’s just eaten has a ‘great flavor.’ He can ask if Yangyang needs a tissue. He can ask if Yangyang needs a fork. He can recite exactly one (1) Li Bai poem but cannot tell you for the life of him what over half of the words actually fucking mean. He can kneel on the floor in a perfect bow and call Yangyang ‘Your Majesty.’ But not that he ever does it sober.

Ten had plans and dreams of his own. Since he was a child, he’d dreamed of leaving the farm life behind to live in Bangkok. Lisa was leaving to get married. Bambam was leaving to take over his grandfather’s watch repair shop. Ten wanted to leave too. He didn't want to be left behind. He wanted to live a cool life like his friends. He wanted to live the kind of life people wrote novels about. Made TV shows about. He wanted to open a bakery even though he had no experience baking. He wanted to join a rock band. Become a bartender or something. Dance for tips at a sultry nightclub. He had the body and the confidence and the _moves_ , Bambam always told him. Anything would have been more fun than spending the rest of his twenties on the farm. The work was backbreaking and tedious and the weather was always muggy and hot and he didn’t even like to _drink coffee_ so why should he slave away harvesting it for other people? 

But then this tall, gangly-limbed foreigner who spoke Thai in clipped, accented, percussive syllables ran into him at the market one morning and maybe, just maybe, it was love at first sight.

And that same gangly-limbed foreigner with his cute, boxy smile and honey brown eyes looked at all of the things Ten looked at all his life but instead of bored indifference, everything looked wondrous and magical to him. Messy graffiti on the alley walls became artistic masterpieces. Chickens wandering up the muddy road in the mornings stopped being a nuisance and started being a treat. Yangyang made Ten fall back in love with where he came from. 

But Ten couldn’t just _say_ that out loud, even if the guy couldn’t understand him, so he acted as the man’s tour guide and translator instead. They conversed by awkwardly passing Yangyang’s phone back and forth, speaking into Google Translate and laughing at the nonsense results. They used pouts and grunts and sighs to express their intentions. They used hand gestures. They just grabbed each other by the waist and _pulled_. Laughed. Danced. Ten showed Yangyang the best restaurants in his small, rural town. Took him to the only good drinking spot in the area. Escorted him to the small Buddhist temple at the foot of the mountain and walked him through the step-by-step process of cleansing and meditating and offering alms. All things he never thought could be special until he did it with someone else. And when Yangyang said he wanted to stay, Ten wanted him to stay as well. Ten pulled strings to help get Yangyang a job at the farm. Bambam was leaving anyway, Ten whined to Nichkhun, and if he hired Yangyang, he wouldn’t have to go through the effort of posting job listings online or help wanted posters at the bars. Ten even spotted Yangyang a few thousand baht to help him cover groceries, rent and medical expenses until the younger man’s first few paychecks settled.

It was risky and a split-second decision and things could have gone so terribly wrong. Ten could have lost so much money and perhaps even his job if things turned sour. He knew that. He turned down a spare room with Bambam in Bangkok and didn’t go to Lisa’s wedding.

All so that he could stay by Yangyang. All so that they could spend their days together.

Having a crush on someone makes you do the dumbest fucking things.

⛾

Conversations between them can be slow, repetitive and frustrating. Yangyang does not know enough Thai to freely speak with Ten. Ten doesn't know nearly enough Chinese to freely speak with Yangyang. But the language they _do_ share is coffee. It's the one thing they both thoroughly know.

Yangyang loves every aspect of it. Yangyang loves going to all the cafes in town to taste test their house blends. He loves to find out which businesses use the coffee beans he harvests. He loves to ride with Nichkhun in the work van, south into the cities to deliver crates of beans to different shops. He loves to watch the baristas find unique ways to blend the beans with vanilla or orange peel or mint or chocolate or fruit to make specialty drinks. He loves tasting a cup and naming the flavor notes. He loves experimenting with different creamers and different kinds of milk and different kinds of sugars.

Ten has to fall back in love with coffee. He has to let go of his resentment for it. Slowly. And then he has to appreciate it and care for it as something other than just a part of his job. He has to _like_ it. And he does. More and more every day. The aroma. The texture. The taste. The preparation. The time he gets to spend with Yangyang whenever they make it together. Ten learns to love with every pour. Every sip.

Coffee brings them together. Keeps them together.

Through each step of the process, they discover a little bit more of each other. First, they pick the ripe coffee cherries off the trees on the farm. Always the red ones. Never the orange or the green ones. Second, they grind the buckets full of cherries in the burr mills until the husks fall off. Usually, Ten works the machine. Shirtless and tanned and soaked in sweat beneath the summer sun. Yangyang's responsible for the rest. Discarding the empty husks. Collecting the usable beans. Hosing everything down until all of the moving parts are clean again. Then they team up again with gloved hands and hot water to peel the parchment off the beans. Working on the farm in silence like this is when they share the most common ground. One speaks Thai, the other speaks Chinese, but they can both speak the art of coffee.

Sipping a fresh cup of the stuff first thing every morning, the two of them can express their love of the ancient beverage using sounds they both know: hmms and ahhs and groans of satisfaction.

They don’t need Thai or Chinese for that.

⛾

Yangyang likes to make coffee by hand.

Partially because he’s never gotten the hang of using a machine but mainly because it’s fun.

It's Wednesday and he has the day off but that doesn't mean the others don't. He has to start at dawn to give himself enough time to get there before he's in the way. He dresses comfortably and leaves his condo, trudges down the empty and muddy lane to the coffee farm at the edge of town. Nichkhun lets him in the gate after a quick phone call. Yangyang grabs a picker's basket and goes to the trees they've already hit the previous day. The branches are skint from the harvest but he still manages to find a few good cherries after wandering up and down a few rows of trees. He doesn't need many. Just enough to make one cup.

So he picks enough until the cherries cover the bottom of the bucket and takes his loot to the mill. The machine's slow when Ten's not the one cranking the handle, but with so few cherries, it doesn't take long. He scoops up the beans, sweeps up the husks and takes the goods home.

The town's woken up a bit more when he walks back. The sky has lost the orange and yellow glow of dawn and now everything is blue with the new day. There's the clatter and clanking of a trailer being dragged behind an ancient pickup truck. Shops are opening for the day and someone's playing old, classic Thai songs through a cassette player on their front porch. Yangyang arrives at his condo and swings open all of the doors and windows to let in the refreshing breeze swooping in from off the mountains.

He sets to work immediately, using his hair dryer to dry out the beans and split the parchment. Then it's a matter of peeling the parchment off of the beans. The protective skin clumps beneath his nails and it is tedious work but he enjoys the mindlessness of it as he hums along to the music he can hear from across the street.

Ten wanders into the house right as Yangyang's turning on the gas stove. He doesn't need to call or text. He doesn't need to knock. He just shucks off his shoes at the door and crosses the tile floor to take a seat on a stool at the kitchen island. They greet each other in Thai, heads dipping, palms pressed together beneath their chins and then Yangyang puts a kettle of tap water on the burner.

He roasts the coffee beans in a pan over the high flame until the beans brown and crackle like popcorn and fill his kitchen with a warm, earthy scent.

Ten likes to watch him work. Whether at the farm or right now at the kitchen island. He likes to watch the morning sunlight catch on Yangyang's eyes and send them sparkling. He likes to watch the easy, unfiltered way Yangyang smiles and hums as he does the work he loves.

Ten usually doesn't show up on days where they don't have to walk to work together but he's here anyway and he must have been secretly practicing his consonants and tones at home because he says “I want you to be my boyfriend” in perfect fucking Chinese.

Yangyang hears him. Of course he does. He perfectly understands. Of course he does! He also… doesn’t understand. Yangyang flips the beans in the pan and looks across the kitchen island. He holds Ten’s gaze for a moment. To see if he can spot a spark of laughter in the man’s eyes. To see if it’s some kind of joke before he takes the bait and reveals his heart. To see if Ten may not have realized what he said and what it means. But Ten’s expression remains earnest and he maintains eye contact without a snicker or a snort.

The kettle on the burner whistles angrily. The noise snaps Yangyang out of his thoughts and he snatches the kettle off the heat. Then he grabs the pan and dumps the hot beans into the metal colander in the sink.

He works the colander in fast circles under running lukewarm water until the last few shreds of silver skin slough off the beans and coat the bottom of the sink. Yangyang gives the beans one last rinse and then carts them back over to the kitchen counter where the grinder awaits. He realizes very quickly that he picked too many beans to make just one cup of coffee. He will have to make two.

It’s not until Yangyang snaps the lid onto the grinder and gets ready to press the on button when, in Thai, Ten says “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

And it’s strange how Yangyang understands him _better_ the second time when he knows so little Thai. It's strange how he _gets it_ when it's spoken in a language he does not get. He knows the word for ‘boyfriend’ in Thai and it hangs in the air between them just like the heavy, alluring scent of coffee as Yangyang grinds the beans into nice, fine grounds.

The next part is easy, Yangyang thinks. Get the jug and the sieve. The cheese cloth he uses as a filter. Pour the boiling water over the coffee grounds until it foams up to the top of the sieve. Wait. Wait. Wait as it all filters out. And then he'll have coffee. 

He runs through the sentence he wants to say over and over in his head to make sure he has everything structured and arranged correctly and then he says, in Thai, “I’ve waited a year for you to ask me to be your boyfriend.” And it's just as much a complaint as it is a sigh of relief. As it is a confirmation. An acceptance. An agreement.

But maybe he doesn’t say the words correctly because Ten doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t react. He hardly moves. And maybe it's a good thing he didn't hear. Maybe it's a good thing that what they have isn't ruined.

Yangyang watches Ten out of the corner of his eye as he finishes preparing the coffee mugs. He watches Ten sit calmly, chin propped up on his hand, fingers tapping against his own cheek to match the rhythm of the music that floats to them from outside. The breeze changes direction and the wooden wind chime right outside the front door lets out its percussive song.

Ten is surprisingly muscular to be so short, Yangyang thinks, but it's a build that comes from working on the coffee farm for so long. Years of picking cherries and sawing off tree trunks to promote new growth and working the grinder and carrying everything in buckets. Yangyang hasn’t been working at the farm long enough to burn all the fat off of his belly and thighs. He can’t even get a tan to stick to his skin.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” Ten says, staring out the open door at a blue and cloudless sky.

A year ago and Yangyang would have thought he heard wrong. Now, he can see the grayish tint to the western half of the sky and he knows without really seeing that there are storm clouds gathering on the other side of the mountains.

And maybe it's not about the weather at all and it's Ten's way of giving Yangyang one last out. One last chance to keep their hearts safely tucked away.

But Yangyang doesn't want safe. He came to Thailand to _avoid_ safe. He left Taiwan behind because he was tired of _safe_.

So he refuses Ten's offer of safety.

Yangyang says, in Chinese, “I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since I first met you” as he sets a mug of fresh coffee in front of Ten. Black and steaming. No sweetener, just the way he likes. Ten smiles up at him as he lifts the mug to his lips and takes a tentative sip. Yangyang watches him lick his lips. Watches Ten run his finger around the rim of the cup as he blows the steam away.

Are they boyfriends now? Is that how it works?

But Yangyang isn’t sure because Ten doesn’t say anything. Still. In Thai or Chinese.

Yangyang goes to the fridge and pulls out his nearly empty carton of coffee creamer. French vanilla, just the way he likes. He returns to his stool at the kitchen island and pours the last of the creamer into his mug as the birds sing outside.

They should be saying things to each other, Yangyang thinks. They should be _speaking_.

But they don’t need Chinese or Thai to say what they mean. 

They have coffee for that. They’ve always had coffee. It brings them together. It keeps them together.

So Ten slides a jar of sugar across the counter until it rests next to Yangyang’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/TheSwingbyJHF)


End file.
